


Our Universes Collide In Slow Motion

by SleepDepraved



Series: THE SLIDER [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, Embedded Images, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Multiple Selves, Parallel Stiles Nickname Is Miles, Parallel Universes, Soulmates, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is older than Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDepraved/pseuds/SleepDepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is 22 when he jumps to a different universe to find someone who can save his pack.</p><p>He may never make it back home.</p><p>--<br/>(Fic 2 of THE SLIDER)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles 29 / Miles 22

**Author's Note:**

> **THE SLIDER 2: _Our Universes Collide In Slow Motion_**
> 
> This is the sequel to [I've Missed You For 29 Years](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6407212)
> 
> Some things that happened between the first fic and this:  
> \- Scott/Isaac relationship is in it's early stages  
> \- Kira has gone back to Princeton for the time being.  
> \- Stiles got a terrifying new jeep.  
> \- Jackson is back in Beacon Hills.  
> \- Danny & Ethan are visiting.  
> \- Danny has gotten the bite.

Stiles stood in his friend’s arms, tears collecting in his eyes. “If this doesn’t work—“ he whispers.

“It will work.” Laura says for the umpteenth time while holding him closer, almost believing it herself.

“If it doesn’t. Tell Derek I’m so sorry. And that I love him. And not to… not to blame himself,” Stiles finishes. There’s nothing to stop the tears from falling now.

“It will work.”

“Please Laur. Promise me.” Stiles demands shakily. When she nods into his shoulder, scenting him for what could be the last time, he starts collecting the magic he needs from his spark and distributing it around himself. He pulls away from her, taking a few quick steps backwards and begins incanting in his head.

_Weda lela wizedenyi._

The tattoos along Stiles’ body start to flicker, like a fluorescent lamp blinking on, and a moment later there is a flash of light and the young man is gone leaving no trace except a small bare patch of dirt in the grass where he was standing. Laura stumbles alone next to the nemeton, clutching her chest as she feels the pack bond disappear, and hears her brother’s mournful howl from the other side of the preserve.

\--

Hangovers suck balls when you’re almost 30, they really do. And even worse, they can last a few days. Gone are the days of his late-teens-early-twenties resilience, where he could just bounce back with a bottle of Gatorade and a night’s rest. It just doesn’t work that way anymore. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to host Beacon Hills’ very first beer appreciation festival on a Tuesday anyway? Jerks, that’s who. Stiles peers around at the other students, comforted by the fact that everyone else looks equally destroyed. Guess the beer festival was a success then since everyone looked like they might drop dead at any moment. 

Not his professor though. So here he was, walking in the preserve with his college group, taking down whatever notes he can jot down quickly enough. At least it’s a beautiful notebook, which he’s breaking it in today. Brown cover with unbleached brown pages—just brown all around. It feels so… natural. He loves it in a secret pretentious way. 

Just like normally he loves these outings, however rare they are in first year of his Forestry Science undergrad course at the newly established University of California Beacon. Usually they’re cooped up in lecture-rooms at the UCB premises—a building on Main Street recently bought and donated by the Hale Family Foundation. Stiles hates it there. The part of the building they’re using is old and the toilets sometimes don’t flush. The other parts of the building are being renovated, and the construction work is noisy. It’s a far cry from the sprawling UC Davis Campus which also hosts the same course, but Beacon County is small, and even if everyone and their mom is excited about the opening of a UC in their town, it is still very much in its growing pains stage. In 5 years, there will be a small purpose built campus on the outskirts of the county. For now, there are crammed old offices and contractors working a few rooms away. Stiles can’t go all the way to Davis though. Scott’s already studying veterinary science there, and they can’t have both the alpha and second staying outside of the territory at the same time.

Then, he feels it.

An intruder? No. Not a pack bond either. _Something._ Whatever it is, it just appeared deeper in the preserve towards the direction of the nemeton. If it’s an intruder, then the wards will warn the pack and someone was bound to come check it out. If it’s not an intruder, then it is at the very least a magical being judging by what Stiles can tell, maybe just a wandering witch on a pilgrimage to the tree? It’s high unusual but not completely unheard of. Either way, Stiles is the nearest one to check it out. Well… technically he’ll _always_ the nearest one, once they add him to the wards’ “group chat”.

“Stiles? STILES!” Nala pokes him in the side.

The Brazilian girl is one of his closest friends in his college. Which is to say, he sits next to her and they share research notes. He doesn’t invite her to his house for dinner, watches movies, or does anything outside of college with her. He has the pack for that. Whenever his college mates bring up going out for drinks or such, Stiles always declines, preferring to spend time with his boyfriend and pack mates.

“Er yeah,” Stiles stutters, shaking out of it. He’ll have to attend to this disturbance so he can’t stay. “I just remembered something important I forgot to do. I’ll have to leave early. Sorry guys. Please email me if you need me to look over anything.” He apologises to the professor and his sorta-friends, and sets off in the direction of the nemeton.

Professor Davies who was posted over from UC Davis (Ha! Davies from Davis) just nods and waves him off, going back to teaching the class. If he was peeved, Stiles certainly didn’t notice it. He’s the star pupil in the class and it pays off. He does alright in all his theory lessons but where Stiles really shines is in the practical work. The forest practically opens up to him in ways that border on supernatural (because it is) and the professors are always amazed when they go out into the preserve and Stiles just happens to spot a rare plant or come across special phenomenon like it’s nothing. His botany teacher Professor Gould practically cried, she was so thrilled, when Stiles found a rare shrub with 3 flowers blooming when it supposedly only puts out one flower once every 8-10 years. 

“Hey, not that way!” Nala yells at him. “You’ll end up in private property.”

Stiles smirks, but keeps his eyes forward as he walks. He needs to find the source of this disturbance. No one has called him, so it is possible he is the only one to notice it. If no wards were tripped, then either whatever is out there is perfectly innocuous, or possible it is so powerful as to dispel a ward. So either it’s nothing, or it _really_ something. So good to narrow it down. 

Pushing the tendrils of his magic out into the air, he taps into the consciousness of the nemeton, trying to suss out the situation. There’s a person near the tree who seems magic but non-threatening. Good to know. Closing-in nearby, he can feel Derek moving quickly on the location, probably running half shifted. “Dammit Derek. We’re going to have another conversation about you not running into things without telling others,” Stiles curses to himself.

When he is far away enough from his college group, he ducks behind a tree, looks around to make sure no one is watching then weaves his magic around a mental incantation and teleports.

\--

Stiles is crashing into the ground next to the magic tree. He can feel magic emanating in the area, and it’s not particularly inviting.

It’s daytime, which is not ideal. Night time would have been preferable for sneaking around the town, getting a feel for his surroundings, but at least he is in one piece, isn’t he? He pats himself down meticulously making sure that everything is where it should be. Some of his clothes look singed but nothing obviously missing.

He pulls out his phone. _Emergency calls only._. At least the phone still works in this universe right, that’s helpful. For a second, he entertains the thought of calling the emergency hotline. His dad had to be the sheriff here too… probably. Or maybe not. Perhaps he’d better not risk it.

Slowly, he attempts to stand up but as soon as he reaches an upright position, his whole vision spins, and he collapses again trying to will the spinning to stop in his head. Ow! So maybe he wasn’t quite so alright.

A shout comes from the left, through the trees.

“Stop hurting him!”

He turns to the sound of the voice, but it’s too blurry. It’s a familiar voice, but he can’t really pick it out with his head spinning.

“Stop. He’s not our enemy.”

There’s a moment before his head calms and his vision returns. When he look up, he sees a hand reaching out to him. He grasps it and accepts being pulled upright, facing an older looking version of himself.

“Hey buddy,” The other man says, looking tentative and worried. He looks Stile’s up and down. “You didn’t get sucked into any portals lately did you?”

“Erm,” he stammers out, clearing his voice. This Stiles seems a bit older than the one who slid into his world a year ago. That Stiles was closer to his age. “Do you remember me? I think—“ He doesn’t really know if this Stiles is the one he met so it’s a long shot. “I think maybe we’ve met. Or maybe not. I’m Stiles from a parallel universe.”

The older Stiles smiles and nods. “Yeah. I don’t know which world that is exactly, I’ve been to a few. But it’s possible we’ve met. And sorry about the tree,” the older Stiles says resting his palm on the trunk of an enormous tree stump. It didn’t make much sense. Why is he sorry about a tree stump? Either way, the man continues, “Tell me a bit about your world, your pack.”

“Erm. I’m sorry. I’m a little dizzy. Give me a minute.” He doesn’t know where to start. “The tree?”

“Yeah, or a stump more accurately. This right here is the nemeton. I’ve told you about it. Do you remember? It’s a sentient magical tree that holds together the natural telluric power of this territory. It didn’t know why you were here and you landed really close to it so it freaked out. It wasn’t going to kill you. Probably just wanted to knock you out so I could find you first.”

“That’s… really unsettling.”

The other man just nods. “Yup. Welcome to my life. So…” Older him says, trailing off like he’s waiting... oh right.

“Um, I’m Stiles, obviously,” he starts.

“I can relate to that.”

“And I’m 22 years old. Derek is my mate. Talia Hale is my alpha. My best friends are Scott and Laura. My other friends are Erica—“

“Okay stop. So Talia, Erica and Laura are alive in your world?” Oh yeah. The Stiles he met mentioned something about a fire and hunters and… dead pack members. Wait… that’s why he’s here. He needs to save his pack. Focus. What was it that the other Stiles said was different about his world? 

“Err yeah. They’re alive. And Boyd. Oh! But Peter… He died when I was young,” he says remembering what the other Stiles mentioned about Alpha Hale’s younger brother, who he’s only heard about but doesn’t remember.

“Okay that narrows it down. Tell me, is mom alive? If so, is she a werewolf?” The older Stiles asks.

He meant their mom, Claudia? “Yeah mom is alive, and yes to the second question.”

The other Stiles sighs in recognition. “Oh thank god. It would have sucked if I just asked you about our dead mom. Yeah, alright buddy... I think I know which world you’re from. How did you get here? Do you need to get back?”

“What? No! I need help to save my pack!” Stiles can feel his vision blurring again. Oh no. What the hell was this nemeton trying to do to him. He was suffocating… he couldn’t… 

“Hey man. Dude. Can you hear me? You need to breath. You’re having a panic attack. Count down from 10… 9… 8…”

He feels gentle arms around him, pouring warmth and life into his veins. There is comfort, but no structure. It doesn’t seem to matter how much he tries, he can’t hold on to his thoughts. Soon there is nothing but darkness.

\--

Derek is running as fast as he could.

It wasn’t long ago that he felt the tug at his heart. It wasn’t really a distress call, but he knew it was urgent whatever it was. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt like his mate needed him and was calling out. It wasn’t until he was halfway to whatever it was that he noticed he was running towards the nemeton. It’s always something with that damn tree!

_Stiles! Hang on, I’m coming._

When he is almost there, he realises that there are two heartbeats. He doesn’t know how he’s hearing both of them exactly since he’s still technically too far away. Normally he can pick Stiles’ heartbeat from about a mile and a half away, and that distance is growing. It used to be just under a mile. But this other person who’s at the nemeton with Stiles—their heart is racing almost dangerously fast. What the hell is happening?

 _Stiles… Mate! Can you hear me?_ For the first time, he truly wished that Stiles could actually read his thoughts like he’d suspected the man of doing.

When he gets close enough, he spies Stiles just at the range of his sight, crouched over holding a limp body. Just a little closer and he breaks through the tree line. He’s about to bare his teeth when Stiles looks up at him with a serious expression.

“Whoa there. I’m okay. This little guy was having a panic attack though so I’ve sedated him for now,” Stiles tells him, eyes gesturing to what Derek can now see is the sleeping body of a boy who… 

“Stiles? That’s…” Derek stammers out in confusion.

“Yeah I know. It’s mini me. He just came through a portal, just before I got here. Hey, can you take him. My satchel is digging into my side,” Stiles says as he leans the boy up towards Derek.

It takes him a moment, but Derek carefully lifts the sleeping boy up into his arms. “How did this happen?” Closer now, he can see that this boy has all the features of the Stiles he first met years ago on. In some ways this kid is more like the Stiles he remembers. The same scent. Same heartbeat signature. And this boy smells even more like home than his Stiles. It was doing strange things to him. His instincts were telling him that this was his mate… his true mate.

“Hey there. I know what you’re thinking and I’d be more angry if I didn’t also know why alright. He’s not your mate. _I am your mate._ But he’s going to smell more like… whatever you think I’m supposed to smell like because he’s from a world where your family is alive. He’s going to smell like them,” Stiles, _His Stiles?_ , explains. “He’s also been mated with his version of you for much longer, so their scents will be intermingled more.”

Derek hears no lie and is disappointed in himself for even checking. Now that he knows what it is, he can pick out Laura’s scent on the boy he’s holding, layered over others he’s almost forgotten. It’s a beautifully rich scent of family and home. Most of his family are dead though, and even though it’s complicating his instincts, he knows logically that his family is now just Cora, Stiles, John, and sometimes Peter and Malia. He moves closer to Stiles and dips his nose into his mate’s hair in apology. When the other man’s head leans backwards, he places a small kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “I’m sorry.” He won’t let himself forget ever again.

“It’s okay sourwolf. Like I said, I know your instincts and it’s not prepared for a situation like this. I’m not going to blame you for trusting your instincts, even if they are mistaken. Just… try to remember okay?” Stiles looks around checking that he has his satchel and none of his things had dropped out in the commotion. “Well, nothing left here to do. People will ask too many questions if they see him, so we can’t bring him home. We’ll go to the mansion I guess. I’ll message the others… actually, you know what, this feels like a phone call kinda thing. Too hard to explain in text.”

Derek nods as Stiles takes out his phone.

“Scott. Hey bro,” Stiles says when the call connects.

“Stiles, shit is this an emergency?” Derek can hear Scott’s slightly concerned tone down the line.

“No… well… kinda. It’s a situation not an emergency but you’ll probably want to drive back for this.”

“I’ve got Small Livestock practical in fifteen minutes. Can it wait until after that? It’s not graded but—“ Scott was also the type who excelled in the practical part of his course so he was much more of a doer than a thinker. For veterinary science, that often translates to working with animals, or in Scott’s mind, frolicking with baby goats.

“What? Oh yeah. No, you should definitely go do that. This is on ice for the moment. I just wanted to let you know that you should come back for the night so we can have a pack meeting or something. Don’t stress about it. This is like a DEFCON 4 or something until I know more. I’m gonna call Lydia now. Enjoy the baby goats.” Once Stiles puts down, he dials Lydia. “Hey Lyds. I need you to get down to the mansion as soon as you can.”

“What’s going on Stiles?” Lydia sounds breathy, like she’s on a treadmill.

“A portal opened up at the tree and spat out a mini me, you know, like a Tensor-Stiles. As far as I can tell, this is Stiles-6 but I have to double check my notes to be fully sure.”

“What?!”

“Calm down, no need to panic. I’m with Derek. Mini me, damn we got to get a better name than that or this shit is gonna get more confusing… he started having a panic attack and in the process trying to calm him down, I kinda made him fall asleep. Derek is carrying him now and we’re on foot to the mansion.”

“Okay I’ll be there. Should I get anything on the way?”

“Actually could you activate the phone tree? The full pack except my dad… I’ll text him myself. He could be busy.”

“I’m on it,” she says and puts down abruptly.

Stiles sighs, and leans into Derek’s shoulder as they continue walking. “I’m loving your uniform by the way,” Stiles says softly, finally having a moment to themselves before all the crazy starts again. “I’ve never had much of a cop fetish given my dad’s and all, but man when you burst out of the trees, I think I flood my basement a little.”

Derek isn’t going to admit it to his mate, but he turns a lot of heads in his deputy’s uniform while he’s out on patrols. The two waitresses down at the Chipotle refer to him as ‘Officer Sexy’ to each other, and discuss how big they think he’s cock is when they think he’s out of hearing range. From them it sounds lewd, but when Stiles throws in a small compliment here and there, he just wants to preen, throw his mate into his den, bed, whatever, and have his way with him. “I’ll have to remember that, for later,” he croons and flashes a smile.

“Mmm yeah, later. After we figure out what Miles wants,” Stiles purrs.

“Miles?”

“Mini Stiles over there. He said something about needing to save his pack. I’m not sure how we’d even begin to do that seeing as he’s a few universes too many to the left, but maybe he’s got magic red shoes he can click heels together to send him back to Kansas after he gets whatever he needs from us.”

Derek examines the younger Stiles in his arms. Whether because of logic or instinct, he doesn’t know. But he must protect his mate—both of them.  
_His mate and his littler mate._

\--

“Stiles will be fine. He’s made it to the other side. He’ll be back Derek… please.” Laura uses her entire strength to hold Derek down as her brother trashes and howls. “I know he will.” He has to. She’s starting to wonder if she should have stopped Stiles’ from going. At the time she couldn’t even though she wanted to. She knew that Stiles was determined to find a way to save them all.

The pack is in grave danger, of that there is no doubt. Even so, some of them might survive all-out war with the hunters. Or they could run, flee the territory in shame, they'll be alive at least. But if Stiles didn’t return, she knew one thing for sure; her brother would not make it out of this.

_Wherever you are Stiles, come back quickly._


	2. Collision Course

_I hope you know what you are doing Stiles. Once you save him, there is no turning back._

Stiles snaps awake. It’s not a nightmare, not a dream. A vision? It reminds him of the nogitsune, without the menacing overtones of dread and contempt. It’s… wait. Where is he? He glances around and realises that he’s on the sofa in the packroom—the main Hale mansion living room just past the sliding doors at the back of the house facing the pool. It starts coming back to him in hazy fragments. He and Derek had returned with a passed-out Miles then his boyfriend left to go fetch pack members from around town. Stiles was supposed to keep watch over his mini-self who is… wait where is he? Shit!

“Miles!?” Stiles jerks up with a start. Miles is not where he left him, passed out on the other couch. “Miles, where are you buddy?” Before he can really yell, the skinnier younger version of him walks back into the room.

“Sorry, you were asleep. I thought I’d check the place out. It’s pretty sweet, I gotta say, except for the… ya know, lack of lived-in-goodness since most of the family is dead,” Stiles voice breaks at the last bit. “I mean… uhhh I’m sorry, fuck, I’ll just be quiet.”

Stiles sighs to himself. Foot-in-mouth, check. It’s not like he can complain since this kid is just a younger version of him. “I’m not going to get upset with you because, for one it’ll be hypocritical, and two it’s not my family that died in the fire, but I’d keep that kind of thing to a minimum around Peter or Derek. Especially Derek,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “You mentioned something earlier about saving your pack. Wanna tell me what that’s about real quick before my pack gets here. We will help you any way we can, but it’s nice to know what the hell is going on. Right now, I got nuthin’ to go on.” 

_Think about this carefully Stiles. You are reaching the point of no return. He is not your problem._

Stiles shakes away the thought… whatever it is. He’s not going to turn away this kid. When Miles doesn’t respond, Stiles prompts a bit further. “At least tell me if you came here by accident or on purpose?” That’s a good place to start.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I’m just thinking where to start,” Mini Stiles admits. “I came here on purpose to find you actually. Laura and I found a spell that basically transports you to someone you desire enough. In my case, I needed to find you. We didn’t know if it would work because you’re not… you’re in a different universe and all. Also didn’t know if you were still hopping around in the parallels, so it was—“ Miles explains before the older Stiles cuts him off.

_It would not have worked if you were not already linked._

“What you’re saying is you didn’t know what the hell you were doing and you took a giant risk in the hopes of what? To do what? Oh my god is this what I’m like? Stupid and reckless?” Stiles groans, rubbing his face.

Mini Stiles frowns. “It was a leap of faith. Shit’s going down okay. Big time shit. We’ve never dealt with that kind of shit before. Alpha Hale is dying and there’s nothing we can do to stop it, we’ve tried everything. And she can’t pass the alpha spark to Laura for some reason, we’ve tried that too. Laura doesn’t… it’s like her wolf can’t hold the alpha power, so it just won’t take it. Derek doesn’t want to kill his mom to take the power, fuck none of them do. If she dies this way, Talia will leave no heirs and the entire pack will become omegas and it’ll be my fault, and…” Mini Stiles is gulping in short sharp breaths, panic setting in. When Stiles moves to lay a hand on him to calm him down, he smacks the hand away. “No… no, hold… on… I’ll… be fine. Don’t… can’t… fall asleep again,” he stammers out between breaths.

_You are on a cusp Stiles. If you jump, I will not be able to cushion the fall. If you bring him to me now…_

“Yeah but who are you?” Stiles asks aloud, before the sound of Miles hyperventilating snaps him out of it. “Okay, then calm down. Breath in and count backwards from 10… 9… 8…” Stiles leads the boy while they wait for the panic to recede. “Okay let’s try this again… Alpha Hale, Talia, is what? She’s weak? Sick?”

“We don’t know, but it’s like her alpha spark is draining away. That’s the best we came up with,” Miles says, still counting his breaths.

“And the spark can’t be passed on without killing her?” Stiles asks.

“We don’t even know if it will pass if Derek or Laura does kill her. They don’t want to. And Laura might not be able to hold the spark even if she is willing. Something is seriously wrong and we don’t even know why.” Miles seems fine now, more determined, which is good. It’s the kind of attitude he needs right now, not panic. “And on top of that we have hunters and like, a pack of alphas or something.”

“The Alpha Pack most likely. We know them. Why did you say it was your fault? And when you say hunters, I thought the Argents had a treaty with you?” It’s something Stiles remembers about World-6. It was such a jarring difference from his own world. Nice, sane, helpful Argents. He had a hard time accepting Kate’s help, for all that she was trying. He couldn’t fucking believe it, but Kate Argent could actually be a nice person. What a world to be living in.

“They did, or at least Kate did. But then Gerard died. Cancer I think, that’s what I heard. This… Alpha Pack, they’ve been stirring the pot ever since they got into town. I told Kate about it and she tried to help but got captured so nobody knows who’s running the Argents now, probably Victoria or Allison. Now the hunters are shooting at any werewolf… they don’t care that the Hales are not the ones who—“ Miles starts choking again.

“Breathe goddammit, or I will force you to relax and you’ll be passed out for another hour,” Stiles gets up to go get water for the distressed boy. “I’ll be right back. Gonna get you some water alright. You sit there and remember to breathe.”

_You are a stubborn one aren’t you. Will it won’t be long now. Peter is in the other room with the boy._

(Won’t be long until what?)

When he gets back from the kitchen, Peter is standing near the sliding doors staring at Mini Stiles, the boy staring back cautiously.

When Peter looks up, he sighs in relief. “Oh thank god. Here I was thinking you de-aged,” his tense shoulders slumping back down.

“Peter, this is Mini Stiles, or Miles for short, can I call you Miles? Whatever, it’s still better than our actual name. I’m calling you Miles. He from World-6, to the best of our knowledge,” he says as he passes the glass of water to the kid. “Miles, this is Peter Hale.”

“Peter?” Miles looks shocked.

“So This is what Derek meant,” Peter says as he takes sniffs the air, inhaling the scent of Hales long dead. When the boy continues to look at him with goldfish eyes, he takes a moment away from nostalgia to continue, “Well, hello to you Miles. Yes, I am Peter. Do you not know me?”

“Err no. You’re… well…” Stiles tries to say.

“You’re dead in his world Peter. Afghanistan, would you believe it. You’re a war hero,” Stiles says, saving Miles from the awkwardness. The younger him doesn’t know that Peter is mostly immune to talks regarding his personal mortality. He already died once and resurrected. He’s been called all manner of things by the pack like _zombie, undead, formerly dead, living corpse_ , he’s used to it.

“And I didn’t resurrect? I’m disappointed in myself,” Peter scoffs, brushing it off as Stiles predicted he would.

“Seems like it. You did save a whole platoon of men one time. And there are stories about how you’re the best at sniffing out an ambush,” Stiles chuckles. Werewolves obviously make uncannily good soldiers.

“How did I die, if I may ask? I find it hard to imagine Taliban fighters getting the one up on me, even if it seems preposterous that I would join that ridiculous human war,” Peter says as he looks through the cabinets for a snack.

“It’s not ridiculous. Iraq was ridiculous, sure. But the Taliban attacked us in September 11 first and—“ Miles snaps.

“I’m gonna stop you there kid.” Stiles interjects. “You don’t know Peter so let me explain. He’s not the type for heroics. And frankly, not that I’m piling on the _let’s all disrespect the sacrifice of our soldiers_ bandwagon, but I’m pretty sure someone mentioned that your Peter was killed in a friendly fire airstrike.” Seriously, there’s no defending a situation where Americans accidentally launch an airstrike on one of their own convoys.

Peter scoffs. “See, ridiculous.”

“Don’t be so smug Peter. You know Isaac lost a brother in combat too,” Stiles points out. Sometimes Peter just didn’t know how to let sleeping dogs lie, even for all his supposed social graces, like now....

“All the more reason not to go fight useless battles,” Peter just rebuts.

“And their Parrish died in Iraq before even meeting them,” Stiles says to Peter as he tips his head to Miles. “You know, Laura’s mate. You remember Laura right?” It’s a low blow but given everything, Peter deserves it.

That catches Miles’ attention. “Wait you said Laura’s dead here, didn’t you?” 

Peter takes that as his cue to leave, leaving his snack behind.

“Yeah you better run,” Stiles calls after him, then turns to Miles, “I’m sorry but yes. Only Hales here are Derek, Cora, and that jerk.” He gestures towards the direction of the stairs that Peter left the room from.

“I’m sorry if I offended him. Shit, and you told me not to talk about the dead… um… It’s just that it’s so weird seeing him when he’s dead in my world, but here all the others are…”

_This kid doesn’t know when to stop talking does he? He reminds me of someone._

(So the voices in my head are sassing me now? Perfect.)

“Oh no, don’t feel bad,” Stiles addresses Miles first. Voices can come later. “Peter killed Laura. He wasn’t entirely sane at the time, but it’s not like I’m making excuses for him for that. Derek’s had to kill him once, but the sucker just came back from the dead. Now he’s mostly cool, and dating Dad.”

“What?!!”

“My point exactly,” he scoffs just before he feels magic emanating in the air. 

“You feel that? What’s—“ Miles starts gazing at the air around him.

Stiles closes his eyes and feels for the tendrils of magic. It’s earth magic, grainy and brown. At the centre of it is wood smoke and a wolf with blue eyes. _Peter!_

_It has begun. Now it cannot be stopped._

Stiles starts running for the stairs but before he can reach the first step, a crashing sound comes from behind him. He turns around to see two tangled bodies heaped onto the broken remains of the coffee table. “What the fuck, Miles watch out!” he yells as he begins moving to the scene, but Miles is already moving to help the people up. Stiles freezes as he sees the first person stand up. Even from the back he recognises those muscular shoulders. Especially like this, clothes torn, half wolfed out and covered in twigs and leaves. It’s a familiar look.

“Derek!” he hears Miles scream, as if confirming his thoughts, and the werewolf has bundled the boy up in his arms, sniffing at his neck and whining.

A beautiful dark haired woman stands up from the ruins of the table, just obscured by Miles and his Derek. Stiles recognises her anyway. “Laura?”

The moment he says her name, she looks around Derek’s shoulder and hops over the debris to come around the embracing couple. “Hi Stiles. Long-time no see. Love what you’ve done with the place. Sorry about the table,” she says peering around the room nonchalantly, like she didn’t just pop out of nowhere into his universe. “So… this is your universe? Luxurious. I always told mom we should get a pool.”

“How did you— What even—“ Stiles stammers.

“Don’t know. We were pulled here. Stiles didn’t bring us here?” She asks, pointing a dainty finger at Mini Stiles, who is patting a now mostly human Derek.

“No he was with me the whole time. We were just…” Stiles shakes his head, remembering. _Peter!_ He turns to go up the stairs again when the voice in his head interrupts him.

_Don’t bother. He left through a window. Besides, the pack is close. Come see me later where I always am. I need to show you something._

(Ugh. You’re the nemeton. Of fucking course.)

“Stiles?” Laura asks, standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Huh? Oh never mind. It was probably Peter, in some misguided attempt at redemption, maybe, or he’s trying to fuck shit up. I’m not sure. Either way, it’s done,” Stiles replies walking back down to look at Laura properly for the first time since she arrived. He pulls her in for a hug. “Welcome to my universe. I don’t know how long you’re staying—“

_Unless she leaves now, none of them will be going home._

“Stiles?”

“Huh?”

“You kinda just spaced out again,” Laura says in a concerned voice.

“Ah yes, sorry,“ Stiles tries to say but is interrupted by the sound of cars pulling up.

Derek is the first up the pavement. He freezes once he rounds the hallway into the packroom. “Laura?” he whispers. It’s almost a prayer.

“Hey Der.” Laura smiles.

Others start spilling into the room, finding space to stand around and stare at what’s before them—A half-naked duplicate of Derek clinging onto a younger Stiles. A broken coffee table. At the other end of the room there’s a woman who looks strikingly like Derek and Cora standing next to Stiles. There’s gasps and _oh my god_ s and _what the fuck_ s all at once. 

_I do not mean to interrupt Stiles, but it’s Laura’s last chance to leave. If she stays, they all stay; and if they all stay, more will come; and if they come, everything will change forever in ways even I cannot predict._

“QUIET!” Stiles yells at no one, and everyone. He needs quiet, too overwhelmed by so many questions all at once and the fucking tree in his head. Combined with feeling the swell of emotions through the mate bond from Derek, it’s too much and he feels a tension headache forming.

The last two to enter are John and Jordan. The sheriff blinks hard and shakes his head roughly. “What is the meaning—“ he starts to say, but Jordan beats him to it.

“Who are you?” Jordan gapes at the dark haired woman in the middle of the room.

“Laura Hale. And who are you?” Laura puffs out, not taking her eyes off the deputy.

It takes Jordan a while to soak in her voice before he replies softly. “Jordan Parrish.”

_Now she’s staying for good._

(Can’t Jordan go with her instead?)

_He is a hellhound—an omen of death and guardian of the afterlife, even if he doesn’t know it. What do you think it takes to kill a hellhound Stiles? And yet his body is dead in their world, which can only mean his spirit has served its purpose there. If this one goes to their world, the gate of hell that Jordan guards with his mere presence will be unchecked. How many of your former adversaries will be free to haunt this plane? Spirits are jealous of the living. You will find that even the ghosts of your dead friends will gladly drag you to your deaths. Jordan must live and die in this universe. He cannot leave._

(And you didn’t tell me this before when you were being so cryptic? What good is this information to me now?)

_Do you think I do not know you Stiles? I did not expect you to listen, nor any outcome but this. My warnings were just to show you that I know._

(You mean so you can gloat when I fuck up anyway? You’re really fucking annoying for a tree stump, you know that?)

_I see no point in gloating. I simply wished to show you the path you took so that perhaps you will take me seriously in future. Besides, it is not your actions today that wrought this. You were 18-years-old when you set the world on this path. For better or worse, you alone have changed the fate of an entire universe. Some will suffer. Some will rejoice._

(And I cannot stop it either way?)

_No. Everything must, and will, change._

Stiles looks between Jordan and Derek, and then back to Laura. Maybe change is for the best.


	3. The Pebble

It’s half past midnight by the time Stiles sets off into the preserve. He’s tired after a long emotional afternoon and on top of that the ground is damp because of the short but heavy rain a few hours earlier. So his chucks were soiled and squishy. Ugh. If it were up to him, he get a few hours to sleep and pick this up in the morning, but no, the nemeton was adamant that Stiles come as soon as he could. The situation at the Hale Mansion had more or less settled down for the day and he didn’t have an excuse to keep a powerful mind-reading magical stump waiting even though he really would like to put it off until, oh let’s say _never_. So here he was… in the preserve… late at night… cranky, cold, sleepy, damp, and still a little bit hung-over from the beer festival on Tuesday. Yup, this chat with the nemeton was going to go swimmingly. If this turned out anything like the nogitsune; like, if the nemeton busted out a chessboard; he was gonna electrocute things and it won’t be pretty.

At least _The Parallels_ —Miles, Miguel and Laura —were settled in nicely. Officially, they are sharing Derek’s room at the mansion since his boyfriend was living with him in the sheriff’s house at the moment. He says ‘officially’ because who knows what Laura will do later but hey, it’s not his place to judge. The other Derek even happily; okay not happily, but cordially; accepted the moniker ‘Miguel’ if only because Miles and Laura have him totally-and-utterly whipped. Not everyone calls him Miguel (“Two people can be named Derek Stiles, it’s not hard. It happens all the time,” Lydia groaned.) but whatever, if Miles and Laura think it’s awesome, then it must be. Miguel is also a little bit chunkier than Derek so his boyfriend’s tight fitting shirts won’t fit as well, and _isn’t that just so fucking poetic!_

Everything is as it should be… well, except the ever growing number of parallel people in their universe, the situation with the other Hale Pack, and the potential that Laura may just choose to never go back now that she and Jordan are the most sickening love-at-first-sigh couple in the world (two worlds to be precise). It had to be a record. While Miles and Miguel were snuggling in Derek’s room (oh shit, is there even a bed since we moved the other one with us?) doing who knows what, Jordan asked if Laura wanted to accompany him on his late night patrol duty with Derek, which she did. Derek looked equally panicked and excited to be spending time with his _technically not but excruciatingly similar and not dead_ sister. Stiles could see his dad’s eyes twitching, even if the sheriff said nothing. It’s love and reunited siblings—small town police policy be damned.

“You’re being quiet all of a sudden,” Stiles says out loud, seemingly to nobody. 

_I do not have unlimited power. Much like you, I must conserve my energy where I can._

“What else have you been doing except mouthing off in my head?” Stiles scoffs. In theory, he knows that the nemeton probably has its roots in a few pots (heh!) but he did he mention he’s cranky?

_You would be surprised how much energy that uses._

“I find that hilarious seeing as how all you did was sass me. And if talking is so hard right now, what the hell am I doing walking over to you in the middle of the night so you can talk to me? And why can’t we do that in my bed?”

_It is not ‘talking’ that is tiresome. It is maintaining the mental link required to talk to you from that distance. If I may ask, why are you not teleporting to me?_

“I’m tired. My focus is shot at the moment and spark magic is all about focus. It’s draining at the best of times but right now I’d fall asleep if I teleported to you,” Stiles yawns as he drags his feet towards his destination. “Wait… I’m pretty sure you know this,” he says suspiciously.

_I do, but since you were asking me about my powers, I enquired about yours. It is something humans do when they make ‘small talk’. They ask questions they know the answers to._

“Smart ass. You’re lucky I’m too tired right now.”

_If you are tired, I can guide you the rest of the way. Up ahead there is what you humans call a ‘ley line’ passing between two trees. Go to it._

Stiles notices two particularly lush oak trees some distance ahead and readjusts his lazy stroll towards them. “How will you guide me?”

_It is not easy to explain in words._

Stiles sighs. “Isn’t that the point of this talk though? Aren’t you going to explain to me what’s going on? So I ask again—If it’s so fucking hard then what am I doing here instead of in bed?” He is a curious sort, he really is, but right now he can feel cold wetness permeating his shoes and socks. It’s not the time to be curious.

_What I meant is that it is not easy to explain **to you**. Everything you humans call science and magic, to me it is just the way things are. And there are no suitable words that you would understand child, only allegories and metaphors._

“I see you get pointers from Deaton,” Stiles huffs as he reaches the ley line. He can feel a thrumming of energy snaking past his shoes, bubbling to surface on the forest floor before seemingly plunging into the deep of the earth again. “And I’m hardly a child you know.”

_Like I said, I use metaphors. It is better I call you a child than a young diminutive sentient primate. Now please… child, stand between the trees._

As Stiles steps on the ley line, he feels the current of magic swirling under his feet, and the sensation of being pulled with the tide into an ocean. “What the—“

_Enough child. Just let me guide you._

Stiles feels his eye lids closing, like they are being pushed shut. He tries to fight it, but it is too strong. Sinking, flowing, warm—finally his mind goes under and he blacks out.

 

When his eyes open again, he’s on a beach lying down in the sand as gentle waves break at his feet, water sifting through the granules. He should be freaking out. He doesn’t know where he is or how long he’d been passed out. But instead he feels calm, regulated, powerful. This must be a dream or a something like it. What exactly did the tree get him into? He looks at his fingers and counts them. Ten. Hmmm. Gazing up at the sky, he sees another beach with waves pelting harder on the shore. As he spins around, all he sees in every direction are beaches stretching on forever, waves of various strength hitting and retreating. It’s beautiful and terrifying.

_This is Infinity, or my analogy of it. I do not really know what it looks like, but I know what it feels like._

“So you brought me into a dream? Where is my body?” Stiles asks, not really concerned anymore. It getting hard to feel anything but calm in this... dream? “You know what this beach dream needs… a puppy,” he murmurs to himself.

_There are no puppies in my metaphor for Infinity._

“Is there cake?” Stiles can practically hear the nemeton face palm (face branch?) even if it’s just in his imagination.

_There is sand and there are pebbles._

“I can see that… a lot of sand and pebbles, Stiles says as he digs his bare feet into the wet ground beneath him. He’s not gonna keep pushing for the puppy or the cake, even though he desperately wants to be pain in the ass. Something tells him his body is just lying on the ground somewhere in the preserve, probably in the mud. The sooner he lets the nemeton talk, the sooner he can call his hot cop boyfriend to take a detour on patrols and come get him. The nemeton doesn’t seem to care either way.

_Imagine that every grain of sand or pebble is a planet, or a star, or a person, or a—_

“Cake puppy?” he yells, but the nemeton just continues, ignoring his fantastic idea.

_They could be people, or events, or important stars like The Sun, or a planet with life like The Earth, or a strong emotion like love or hate. The bigger grains of sand, the rocks and pebbles, are significant powers in a universe. They are tangible players on the cosmic scale who affect those around them. And every beach you see is a different universe. Can you tell where one universe ends and the other begins?_

Stiles looks around and everywhere he turns there is another beach, but try as he might he simply cannot track the edge of one from the other. Even the beaches above him seem to join to each other somehow, not that he can figure it out. “This is trippy.”

_Succinctly put._

The way the nemeton said that wasn’t like it was trying to be sarcastic or belittle Stiles. It actually felt like the tree was agreeing with him for once. Like it was a whacked out stoner friend who just took a long hard toke on a blunt and was staring at the coffee stain on the carpet too intensely. “Oh my god. I don’t know if you have a name apart from ‘nemeton’ but we should call you Keanu because that my friendly tree-friend was very _every Keanu Reeves movie character ever_ ,” Stiles opines as he bends down to feel the sand.

_Even John Wick?_

“You watched John Wick?” Stiles takes moment from touching the sand, surprised that the nemeton knows anything about movies. What does it do? Follow the telluric currents into a movie theatre? Steal a Netflix subscription? Probably not, but still.

_No, but you did._

“Oh my god that puppy!” Stiles clutches his heart. He would go on a vengeful rampage too if someone killed his beagle… well, if he had a beagle. He should get a beagle.

_Focus Stiles. I know it’s hard in here, but please, I have more to show you._

A smooth metallic pebble rises from the ground in front of Stiles’ face. It’s glowing like an iridescent silver nugget. “Cool!” Stiles tries to touch it but before he can do so, it flies away from him, sticking close to the ground as it moves speedily across the beach. Everywhere it goes it sends sand and and other rocks flying away from it, but some of the rocks, metallic looking ones, stick to it instead. “It’s a magnet?” Stiles asks, but the nemeton is silent, neither confirming or denying.

More and more the metallic chunk grows, flying across many beaches. Stiles vision follows it, even from this distance. It’s like he’s flying with it. When it is a meteor the size of a football, it hurls upwards, hurtling into the sky before it explodes like a firework. Small shrapnel of metal fly in every direction landing on the ground and seas across many beaches, some above, some on the side, some below. The silver pebble at the centre, the one that acted as the nucleus, arcs from the explosion and lands out to sea in front of him. It creates a huge splash and water rains down on him. Stiles turns his head to avoid getting seawater in his eyes and sees that the waves on other beaches are now also ripping and frothing. There is a shallow trail, a line depressed in the sand in the path that the meteor took. The splashback ends and all around him the tides are calming down.

Stiles sees the silver pebble washing up on his shore. He runs down to the water line to pick it up with playful glee. It’s jagged and as he takes it in his hand, he realises that the pebble is cracked in two, probably from the explosion that tore the meteor apart in the sky. As he pulls the metal halves apart, he spots a shiny black faceted rock clinging to the core. When he digs it out and holds it up in front of him, he sees that it’s a crystal, and not exactly black but extremely dark violet. The realisation hits him. It’s like a surprise punch to the gut winding from its impact. _A black amethyst._ The black amethyst is Stiles’ spark stone. It is the stone that; out of all the ones he picked, out of hundreds of materials; resonated with his spark. An amethyst; Thor’s stone; because he is a brilliant lightspark—not just a wielder of light and lightning, of magnetic energy and teleportation magic—but a powerful one. Amethysts are harder than most materials, strong but brittle, unbendable but not unbreakable. Dark violet, to the point of seeming black, because his power is deeply spiritual but also dense to the point of obscuring clarity.

“It’s me.” Stiles trembles as tears start to form at the edge of his eyes, the weight of more than a decade of wary travels searching for home, of always stumbling into the wrong universe, of picking himself up after every failure and trying again and again until he finally made it home.

_Every universe you went to, you encased yourself with power, with emotions. You made friends and enemies of people you were never supposed to meet. You took lovers, left behind small parts of yourself. You crawled into people’s lives, then left just as quickly. Your will has rippled through 10 universes that are not your own. You cannot expect nothing to change, that nothing is broken. One universe in particular. There your very presence tore through the pack and left its alpha weakened. Do you remember?_

Stiles kneels on the ground and puts his palms on the sand to steady himself. It’s too much responsibility. Too much weight on his shoulders. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted his father, his mate, his friends. He didn’t ask for any of this.

_Some of these shores will stabilise. The waves will come and the paths you made in the sand will be erased like you were never there at all. But some of them have events set in motion that can no longer be avoided._

 

Suddenly, the beach is gone and Stiles is standing in the pack room. The inside of the Hale Mansion looks slightly different. It’s messier and there’s some different furniture, but he recognises the same stairs, the same kitchen counter. He hears Derek talking to someone outside so he starts walking in the direction of the voices, butbBefore he makes it out the sliding doors, a naked child runs past him down the steps and jumps straight into the pool.

“You little devil!” a familiar voice calls from behind Stiles.

Stiles turns around to see Derek walking through the house holding green swimming trucks in his hands. He starts to say something in reply to the man approaching him but Derek doesn’t stop, walks right through him, down the steps, and flings the trunks at the pool. There’s cackling from the direction of the deckchairs but Stiles can’t see past the glare of the water’s reflection.

“At least pretend that I gave you that,” Derek points at the floating pair of trunks exasperatedly, “or your mom will kill me.”

“Mom won’t care Uncle Derek,” the surfacing boy says as he grabs the swimming trunks.

“I know pup, but your dad will, and then your mom will get angry at me for making your dad pout,” Derek makes an exaggerated pout face which sends the boy into fits of giggles as he splashes about in the water.

“Come play Uncle Derek,” the boy says while struggling to put on the swimming trunks.

Derek looks like he really wants to but he shakes his head. “Can’t pup. Uncle Stiles is coming back soon. I need to set the table and get the house ready for family dinner.”

“Uncle Stiles is even cooler than mom. He can do everything like _that!_ ” the kid says slapping the water with his hands making a splash. “C’mon Uncle Derek. You’re the cool Uncle Derek, not the one that likes doing nothing.” The way this kid is making his puppy eyes at Derek is impressive. Even Scott could take pointers.

“Hey! I don’t do noth—“ Stiles hears an outraged Derek start saying but before he can finish there’s a huge splash and water goes everywhere. He looks up and sees Derek bobbing about in the pool trying to hold his squirming nephew. The laughter echoes in his head, voices, splashing… then it all fades away like fog.

 

When Stiles opens his eyes, the sky is still dark and there’s dew on his clothes. He gets up with a jerk and looks around to find himself sitting on the nemeton’s stump in the middle of the preserve.

_Laura will never leave now._

Stiles shakes off his fuzziness and gets off the stump. Everything he saw in the visions is still on the edge of his mind but it’s just not something he can process so soon after waking up. “Just what the hell are you?” he asks the stump. 

_I am a string that connects different worlds, although I am not sure where I begin and where I end. I believe that I am a manifestation of the Infinity, but I have no way of knowing._

“So there are things you don’t know,” Stiles smirks. He pulls out his phone to see that it’s 4:44 A.M. Spooky. He has a few text messages and a couple of miscalls from Derek and Scott. Good to know that Scott actually remembers to check up on him these days. He quickly shoots a text message to Derek and Scott to let them know he’s fine.

_There are many things I do not know. I did not know that you would be pulled into a parallel universe. If I did, I would not have let you go. I can see and predict many things. But I am not everywhere at all times._

As Stiles reads Derek’s replies, he thinks back to the last vision he had. Could Laura really have a kid in this world? Why didn’t the nemeton just show him Laura? Why show him a vision of Derek playing with his nephew? What does all of this mean? And most importantly… “What do I do? With all this information, I mean?”

_Laura will never leave. I showed you what I could see. I told you before... I cannot see everything._

“You keep saying that.”

_How do you think that will make Stiles and Derek will feel if Laura stays?_

The tree means Miles and Miguel of course and Stiles has been thinking about that. It’s why he’s so torn. He knows that if Laura decides to stay in their world, even after they fix whatever is going on with the other Hale Pack, then Miles and Miguel will have to choose between her and their pack. Most likely they’ll have to leave her behind. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits to the nemeton and also a little to himself.

_Stiles will be able to return whenever he wants. He came here using a spell even you have not figure out._

“Yeah,” Stiles nods as he slips the phone back into his pocket. “I was gonna ask him about that before…” he waves his wrist in a circle, “all this.”

_But it will only carry him across universes, him and a small mass of inanimate objects. You could learn it yourself. But neither you nor him would be able to bring Derek or Laura along._

“I’m also not keen on jumping universes. I don’t care if it works, I’m not risking it anytime soon. So the next step will be to find a way for Miguel and Laura to get back to their universe. By the time they figure it out, Laura will want to stay because of Jordan…” Stiles says considering the situation. Think Stiles! If Laura stays then the other Derek would be heartbroken. Miles would possibly be able to hop back and forth to chat with Laura, but not Derek, and not the rest of the Hale pack in that universe. If they force Laura to leave, then the vision with the rambunctious kid playing in the pool, Derek’s nephew, will never come to pass, not to mention Derek will have to lose his sister all over again. He saw that hopefully look on his boyfriend’s face, like somehow a huge hole in his heart was mended with glue and duct tape. _You’re the cool Uncle Derek, not the one that likes doing nothing._ Hold on. Wait a damn minute. “In the vision, I heard Derek’s voice outside before I went out, but then Derek was behind me also. And that kid was talkin about another Uncle Derek. Both Dereks were in the same universe. They can’t all be staying… so… I mean… maybe…” Stiles stares off to the side as he thinks. “Okay, question: Is there a way to make a… I dunno… a door between the two universes? You said all the universes are like beaches, and the beaches are connected. What if we, metaphorically speaking, made a beach buggy that could take people between the two beaches?” Stiles asks the nemeton.

_It would never be anything like a beach buggy, metaphorical or not, but there is a way._

“And…? What is it?”

_You._

Stiles eyes go wide in shock. “You didn’t think to show me that in any one of your visions,” he snaps impatiently.

_Like I said, I only show you what I see, or what I can explain. I have no knowledge of how you do it, only that you are able to do it._

Logically Stiles knew he had to be involved somehow. Turns out he is fuckin' _Dawn_. He is the goddamn key. “Well that’s annoying. Is there _anyone_ who can tell me?”

_You should talk to Peter._

Fantastic. 


	4. The Apocalypse

“Message received… Today… at… two fourty six… P.M.”

“Cora, it’s Stiles. I don’t know if Derek or Peter has told you anything yet, but we’re in the middle of a sitch. It’s complicated, but to cut a long story short, we have an extra few pack members visiting from a parallel universe at the moment including Laura. Yes, Laura. Call me when you get this, or better yet call your brother. Oh and when you book the plane ticket, make full use the Foundation’s black card for the miles and an upgrade. Okay gotta go, see ya.”

 

“Message received… Today… at… five fifty five... P.M.”

“Hey foxy lady… I’m sorry, you’re probably busy with your show right now. Thanks for the invite by the way but I’m really sorry that none of us will be able to fly up to see your glorious New York stage debut. Frankly once I tell you what’s going on, I don’t think you could blame us, but we’re sorry anyway. We have a few parallel universe interlopers at the moment. No one dangerous, just a parallel version of me, Derek and Laura. It’s not urgent, but you’ll probably want to make your way back once your show’s run is over. When does it end? Next weekend, was it? Anyway I’ll be a bit busy coordinating but if you need anything call Isaac or Danny. Love you Kira, and good luck on your show. Send pics!”

 

Stiles put his cell phone down on the counter and strikes Kira’s name off the list of people to call. Lydia had made printable phone-trees for dozens of different pack situations and even has Danny working on an app for that. She’s a stickler for that sort of thing now since working at the Hale Family Foundation, but he guesses you can’t blame her for wanting some sort of system. A lot of problems in the past could have been solved with better communication, and while Scott’s not as bad as he used to be, no one would really accuse their alpha of having good planning skills. Besides, it would be hilarious to have an app. The mock-ups alone would be great.

“Was that Kira? Did you tell her to bring those herbs I asked for?” Malia asks as she emerges from the cellar with a bottle of wolfsbrew – the strong shit too. She ain’t messing around. Ethan and Malia have been experimenting with various aconite tincture recipes over the last couple of days since he has little else to do, and she thinks it’s going to help her with high school chemistry. Ethan’s a few years older too, which makes him legal, which in turn is handy for procuring the many bottles of vodka needed for the making process. The result of this is a dozens of crates of wolfsbane booze in the cellar in a smorgasbord of potency and taste.

“It wasn’t Kira, it was her voicemail. And I didn’t ask her for those herbs, just like I told you I wouldn’t. If you want Kira to pick you up coyote Viagra from New York, you’re gonna have to call and ask her yourself,” Stiles groans.

“It’s not coyote viagr-whatever. It’s a type of wolfsbane that I want to try in a recipe.”

“And if this strain of wolfsbane happens to have aphrodisiac qualities for a werecoyote then that’s just a happy coincidence?”

“Allegedly! It is allegedly a werecoyote afro-whatever. You know what nevermind, I’ll just message Kira myself.” Malia makes a rude gesture before pulling out her phone to type.

“That’s exactly what I asked you to do,” Stiles huffs. “I’m not going to leave her a message about buying seeds for horny wolfs weed so you can grow it all over the preserve. I’m not going to be a werewolf pot farmer... bane farmer… whatever.”

“That’s a great idea actually,” Lydia says as she walks into the room, clearly mishearing Stiles. “It’s legal, profitable… No reason why you couldn’t… What? Why are you looking at me like that? We’re in California. Our generation is breaking the stigma. It’s no more or less respectable than running a distillery. And it is more-than-tenuously related to your degree. Especially if you can change your major to botany,” Lydia reasons.

“Horticulture is what I would want if I aim to be a commercial pot grower, and I’m many years away from graduating. Plus I’m the sheriff’s son for crying out loud. I can’t just become the pot growing guy of Beacon Hills,” Stiles argues.

“Sure you can…” Lydia argues.

As Lydia and Malia continue to badger him with their opinions (both of them are for the idea so he may just have to give this some more thought later), Stiles scans his finger down the list to the last name on the call sheet. _Peter Hale._ “Malia,” Stiles interrupts with a sigh. “Do you know where you dad is? I need to speak with him.”

Lydia shrugs like she knows she’s sown the seeds, no pun intended, of the idea in Stiles’ head where it will take root. She moves to the sofa to read up some foundation reports.

“He’s hiding at the north-east campsite in the woods,” Malia says nonchalantly. That was a lot easier than he though. Somehow he expected Malia to run him around in circles but she sold her father down the river without so much as a blink.

“Remind me never to entrust you with my secret hiding locations. Okay well I’m gonna go have a chat with him. I’ve literally gone through my entire list of things to do and he’s all that’s left so he’s gotta deal with me,” he says as he stills himself for the teleport. The thing about the way Stiles teleports is that although it is practically instantaneous (if you wanted to split hairs, it’s light speed which isn’t literally instantaneous) it still requires a fair amount of energy. The farther it is, the more strenuous, especially when he doesn’t have one of his own sigils set up at the north-east camp. It’s not exactly as tiring as running all the way there, but it will still feel like a work out. And like any work out, it’s best if you warm up and cool down. His pulls energy from his spark, stretches his shoulders, and casts his mind as far towards his destination. _Petáxei, Grígora, Sklíthra, Fos._

 

Stiles reappears in a bright space – the brilliance so absolute that he cannot see any part of himself, doesn’t know if he is standing or lying down. _No. Please don’t be lost again._ His breath starts to pick up.

_Relax, nervous child. I have you, just for a moment._

“Oh thank fuck. Don’t scare me like that,” Stiles chokes up.

_I was not trying to scare you. This was an opportunity presented to me, so I took it. While you were travelling through the light, you passed over a ley line._

“You could have just told me first,” Stiles says, relaxing considerably now that his initial panic subsided.

_It would have taken too much of me to talk away from the leys. When I am more energetic, we should discuss rerouting a telluric current under the Hale mansion._

Not a bad idea actually, unless the nemeton was corrupted again… so maybe not. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I always assumed you were a lot more powerful than that.”

_I am part of the Infinity and I have a vast amount of knowledge, so in that sense, I am powerful. But in terms of what you call magic, I have far less power than you imagine boy. No one has sacrificed to me in years. In terms of science, I am nothing but a stump, as you aptly put. I am diminished, and continue to diminish._

“Shouldn’t we be doing something about that?”

_No. Someone is bleeding me of my strength. For now, I am less concerned about recovering power than I am with figuring out who wants it and why._

“But won’t you, I dunno… die?”

_My last sacrifice was a living one who continues to nourish me. Even with all that is being taken, I am still more energetic now that I have been in decades._

Living sacrifice? The tree must mean Stiles. No wonder it got so cranky when Stiles was gone. He honestly has no idea how the tree draws power from him because he certainly doesn’t feel like he’s giving it anything. It’s probably some kind of cosmic mumbo jumbo which he doesn’t have time for now. Not when… “Who’s bleeding you,” Stiles says in a concerned tone. He’s never had much love for the nemeton in the past but it’s been pretty chummy lately so it’s growing on him (ha!). And besides – nothing good ever came out of letting the nemeton’s magic be syphoned by just whomever wants to, a la Jennifer. “Is it a darach?”

_I’m not sure and that concerns me as well._

Stiles nods. If it is a darach, then it must be stopped early before they got too powerful.

_Forget the magic thief for the moment. There’s another reason I trapped you in the light. Something immense is pushing at the barriers between your world and the others. It is upon us._

“Immense? It?”

_Huge. A whole universe. Metaphorically, you could call it an ongoing apocalypse. More accurately, it is a cosmic anomaly._

“How do we stop it?”

_You don not stop an apocalypse. It is not possible. It is not the apocalypse you worry about. It only acts as a catalyst. It pierces a hole in the barrier between universes and once it does, unless the hole is plugged immediately, the two universes will start to merge into one. Think of it like two cups of water being poured together._

“That…” Stiles stammers. He doesn’t know what the response of something like that would be. It’s hard to feel anything, not even fear, when you simply have no idea how to imagine the scale of something. And if it is so inevitable, why is the nemeton telling him this? “Will we survive this?” _And is it my fault?_ he doesn’t ask out loud.

_Let me show you something. A metaphor you may enjoy._

Suddenly, the bright light surrounding Stiles starts coalescing into millions of tiny balls of light, leaving darkness between. As it comes into focus, he realises that he is standing in a void surrounded by billions of specks of light swirling around – a galaxy.

_This is your galaxy, The Milky Way, as you human envision it. And this is Andromeda._

Another large spiral arm galaxy comes into view. “Cool…” Stiles stares in awe, mouth agape. As an avid Star Wars fan growing up, then Star Trek, then fan of pretty much anything science fiction, Stiles could stare at this for hours, maybe days. He was so getting an Oculus Rift after this.

The Milky Way and Andromeda swirl around the event horizons of their galactic cores and the dance around in the void around Stiles. They dance around each other like two flotsams in a whirlpool, never touching, ever swirling.

_I am sure you know what happens after a few billion years._

Stiles nods as he cranes his head around to stare at the stars flying around him. “The Milky Way and Andromeda are destined to collide and slowly merge into one galaxy billions of years from now.” The motion of the galaxies speed up as the swirl closer and closer. Finally, their spiral arms begin to touch, tossing star systems in every direction. It’s chaos even as most of the stars stay within the dense merging region, attracted by the huge combined gravity of both colliding galaxies. Eventually, the two galaxies merge into a disc. Together as one – _Milkomeda_. “It’s so beautiful.”

_In that entire merger, not one single star crashed into another. More than a trillion stars, and yet all of them made safely. This is what it will be like when the two universes collide. But unlike the galaxies that took billions of years to finish merging, the universes will merge relatively instantly once the apocalypse has run its course._

Stiles observes the new large disc galaxy spinning around itself in the void. “So we should all be safe then… when the universes merge?”

_That is the question you have to live to answer. The universes will survive the collision relatively unscathed, of that there is no doubt. But life will be very confusing for many. Right now, only you and some others around the world - who have their own seers - know of the impending apocalypse. For everyone else, it will be a surprise._

“So the new universe will have twice as many people, twice as many problems, no preparation, and it’s all my fault,” Stiles sinks down, grabbing his knees, trying to make himself small.

_Maybe. Or maybe it is predestined like The Milky Way and Andromeda is, and you are just the catalyst. This is not the point to place blame._

So then…

“I’m the apocalypse?”

With a crack of thunder Stiles appears at his destination, magic sparkling from his body as it is exposed to the air. He doesn’t brace for the impact, completely unprepared after his vision. His body crumples as it crashes to the ground, sending dirt and dead leaves flying everywhere.

 

When Stiles regains consciousness, he is wrapped in a sleeping bag. His brain starts regaining its functions slowly, his eyes taking stock of his surroundings, then his hearing returns, then other senses. It’s probably late afternoon or early evening. There’s a sound of a crackling fire. He peels himself out of the sleeping blanket, wriggling out he last of the way.

“You’re finally up.” Peter says in a low even tone as he pokes the campfire with a shovel. It’s a small camp, no tents, just a small fire and some piles of dirt around the outer areas like Peter’s been digging.

“How long was I out for?” Stiles says coarsely, before coughing and clearing his throat.

“Few hours. I checked for broken bones and bleeding, but you were only sleeping. Looked like you needed it too,” Peter puts his shovel down and sighs. “Well then, let’s get on with it then… I know I fucked up.”

Jesus, Peter sounded so resigned and Stiles doesn’t understand how this became such a fucking big deal. He was pissed off that Peter did something to drag Laura and Derek into this universe, sure. All he was going to do was yell at Peter for performing unsanctioned and possibly dangerous magic, but it’s not like he killed anyone. As far as Peter went, this a _Bad boy! No belly rubs for you, go to your naughty corner._ kinda thing. And now Stiles knows it is partially his fault, probably.

“Yes, I’m angry at you. But this isn’t the Spanish Inquisition,” Stiles sighs as he drags the sleeping bag closer to the fire to use as a soft seat. “I don’t even know what it is you were trying to do. You need to tell me so we can fix it.”

Peter closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. “I was trying… I’ve _been_ trying to bring Laura back. Not in the way that happened, and not with Derek. That was… unexpected. I don’t think I considered all my variables right. I just…” Peter fiddles with the leaves on the ground, flicking them away from his shoes. “I’m sick of Derek and Cora looking at me like I destroyed the family. I’m sick of feeling like I did. If I had just supported Laura… the four of us could have rebuilt the pack. But I…”

This is the most human Stiles has ever seen Peter. He seems small, unlike his usual pomp and style. Peter may not be a tall man, but he always exuded confidence and ego enough for three men his size. It irks Stiles. For all that the elder Hale had erred, Stiles no longer saw a murderer or a psychopath all the time. He knew other Peters. He understands the layers of the man before him. He wants to say kind words to the werewolf, but right now he at least has to find out what Peter did, and if it was reversible, and then consider everything the nemeton told him and whether it was even worth it to send the three visiting Hale pack members back if the universe was colliding anyway. So instead of comfort, Stiles goes with a firm “What exactly did you do?” instead.

“Standard werewolf resurrection ritual. You trap the soul of the deceased in a spirit flask. You put the spirit flask with the body. You recite some Latin on the full moon for a whole year. Then you break the flask. Standard, all standard,” Peter said numbly.

Fuck. “Where did you even get Laura’s soul?” Stiles asks cautiously ready to defend himself if it came to it. A soul is not something you get without a virgin sacrifice, or probably many virgin sacrifices, especially for an alpha like Laura. He doesn’t think Peter is psychotic per se, but definitely desperate and frequently amoral, a dangerous combination.

“I didn’t sacrifice anyone for it,” Peter says, clearly able to read Stiles coiled demeanour. “But I’m not sure you’ll like what I have to say anyway. I’ve… had Laura’s soul this entire time. I trapped it the moment I killed her.”

He’s right. Stiles doesn’t like it. “Why?” he speaks coldly, not hiding his rancour.

“No reason in particular. Maybe because I might have needed to resurrect her. Maybe because it could be traded? Sometimes I just keep things because I can,” Peter shrugs faux nonchalantly, but his downcast eyes betray him. Still, it’s the truth. Peter being Peter sometimes just keeps all his options open purely for the sake of it.  
Stiles considers what he hears and forces some the tension away. He’s not satisfied, not by a longshot, but at least it seems like Peter is cooperating. “What else are you hiding?” No response. “Peter, we can’t trust you if you keep big secrets like, oh, having a storage flask of your niece’s soul, keeping her from peace in the afterlife just so you can leverage some use from it later, some of which I’m sure you know are abominations.” There are spells to gain power where you eat the souls, destroying them forever. Stiles would like to believe that Peter would never do that, but he doesn’t fucking know does he?

“Stiles… please,” Peter whines. “I don’t know alright. I wasn’t entirely in my right mind, and then after… after I came back, when I got a bit better… I didn’t know what to do with it. I just stuck it in a vault. When we thought you were gone for good, and it almost destroyed Derek… You should have seen him just sitting there for weeks waiting for you to come back,” Peter voice struggles to maintain its usual unaffected timbre. “He used to be my favourite you know. We used to be friends, not just uncle and nephew. But I made so many mistakes. I roped him into them. I destroyed his life.” Peter places his faces in his palms and shivers. He’s controlled, contorts his forehead, but never completely breaks down, just silent shakes. Even in his regret, Peter somehow manages to look poise. Christ. No wonder he was so focused on Lydia.

“So you thought you’d bring Laura back from the dead, what? For him?” Stiles questions softly, hoping to lead Peter out of his self-loathing.

There are some tears, but they subside and a wet cheeked face emerges from Peter’s hands, wiping them away. After a moment, Peter nods, “Yeah. But you came back and it was just… The timing was bad. When Miles was there, you made that comment about Parrish being Laura’s mate and I reacted… poorly. I ran upstairs and broke the spirit jar.” Peter admits.

 _“You know, Laura’s mate. You remember Laura right?”_ he had snarled at Peter. To be fair, it wasn’t one of Stiles’ best moments either. He’s about to apologise when he realises something. The spell not only didn’t work, it backfired and now they have two extra parallel guests. “So why did that bring the other Laura, and also Derek for some reason, from their parallel universe to ours? And what happened with Laura’s soul? Did that just not work?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m out here. I’m trying to find Laura’s grave. I moved her,” he gestures around the campsite to the mounds of dirt where he’s been digging, “before the construction on the new house started, but the body is not where I left her. I’ve dug everywhere. I can’t even smell any buried bodies here at all.”

“Bodies don’t just get up and walk away,” Stiles huffs out.

“Well, obviously,” Peter rolls his eyes. Good to see he’s not tearing himself up anymore, really.

“How it is you can work such high level magic like resurrection anyway.” It’s something he’s always found curious about Peter. “Most werewolves have no magical talent beyond wolfy stuff, and you’re not an alpha?”

Stiles puts his feelers of magic out but can’t sense any bodies either, not that he’s good at feeling through the earth. Geo magic is a particular weakness for a lightspark like him. This mystery will just have to remain unsolved for now, but maybe they could figure out how the other Laura and Derek appeared here. They did come crashing through _just_ as Peter activated his resurrection spell and that was unlikely a coincidence.

Peter goes back to flicking leaves. “Just because most wolves can’t do magic doesn’t mean all wolves can’t. Not all humans have a spark either.”

“You have a spark?” The only werewolf spark was the obvious _alpha spark_ that gives them their alpha form, transformation bite, pack formation, scent masking, memory spells, et cetera. Betas are not meant to have a spark at all.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Peter shook his head. “Certainly nothing of the calibre required to pull people across from parallel universes,” he says miming the pulling motion.

Oh right. That was probably Stiles’ fault for poking holes in the universe’s barrier by hopping between them. It’s something he should come clean to someone about. Might as well be Peter, so he readies a confession. “Peter, I have to tell you something. It may provide insight and well, you’re one of the smarter cookies in the pack, and you’re here, and if you tell anyone before I have a chance to think about it… Just don’t alright, please.”

Peter raises his eyebrows at Stiles’ serious mood. “Alright. As long as we done with the reprimand section of our evening? I do love them, but I find that there’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already beaten myself up for.”

“Yeah whatever. I’m over it,” Stiles shrugs. 

“Then, I suggest we start walking back towards the house so we can get there by dinnertime.”

Stiles stomach gurgles at the mere mention of dinner. “Shit. Yeah, let’s start walking. I don’t think I should teleport right now. I might not stick the landing.”

“Because that’s what you did last time?”

“I could always go back to scolding you Sasswolf.” Stiles grumbles. “Anyway walking is good. It gives me time to tell you how the whole world is going to hell in a handbasket, oh and I’m probably _the mutherfuckin’ apocalypse_.”

Stiles sticks his hand on the ground beside the campside, laying his sigil into the earth, then gets up and follows Peter in the direction of the mansion. "So if I'm with Derek, but you're with dad, do I call you uncle or pop?"

 

\--

**In another universe…**

“Over here. I think I found Laura!” The werewolf yells at her partner. “Laura? Laura? Are you okay? She’s breathing, oh thank god!” she adds frantically.

The man dashes across the leaf littered ground as fast as his human legs can take him. When he makes it to the small clearing he sees his packmate kneeling over a prone naked body of Laura Hale. There are shallow lacerations all over her body and her fingers are dirty and caked in blood, seemingly having clawed her way out of the ground or a cave. “Laura?” He puts his palms on the naked back of the motionless body on the ground and closes his eyes and whispers, “Gēta tekula mek’esik’esi.”

The older woman begins to stir from her facedown position on the ground. “Uh— whaa?” she hoarsely wheezes. She’s trying to push away from her rescuers but she’s too weak.

“Laura, oh my god, what happened to you? Where have you been? Have you seen Derek and Stiles?” the girl spits the questions out in quick succession, clearly distressed.

“Hhh,” Laura murmurs. “Who… are you?”

Their expressions turn to shock.

It is the dark skinned man who replies first in a stoic and formal voice trained for introductions. “I’m Vernon Boyd – Druid and Emissary to the Hale Pack, and this is your packmate Erica, beta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay... Erica & Boyd!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter - Just wanted to finish up the Erica/Boyd intro.

“My… packmate?” Laura stumbles around the words, feeling lost. “I… I died. _I died._ Is this… where is this?”

Erica casts a confused look at Boyd, then back to Laura. “What do you mean ‘you died’? You’re not dead.”

Boyd frowns before raising his hand towards Laura. “May I?” he asks. When Laura notices his hands and gives a small nod, he places a palm on her forehead and the other palm on his own forehead. A few deep breaths later, and he breaks the touch. “This is not our Laura,” he tells Erica solemnly.

“What do you man his is not Laura. I can see here right here. This **is** Laura.” Erica barks exasperatedly.

“This is not _our_ Laura,” Boyd says again, this time in a more exaggerated tone so Erica gets it. “She is another – Like _The Slider_ was another Stiles.”

“Oh fuck!” Erica runs a finger through her wavy hair, flicking it out of her face and brushing dirt off her clothes. “Well, at least we can tell you that you didn’t _die_. You’re just in a parallel universe,” she tells Laura before turning to Boyd. “We better get her back to the house. Let the other’s figure this out – we have our own pack members to find.”

“You and Laura go,” Boyd says staring off into the preserve. “I should find out what the tree knows about this. The magic here…” he says as he trails in front of him, feeling the power in the air, “it is power resting here, and it has nowhere to go.”

Erica frowns and takes Boyd’s hand from in front of him. “I’d feel safer if I went with you,” she adds, rubbing small circles into his palm.

Laura watches the two whisper lovers’ platitudes to each other as she tries to grasp the situation. The last thing she remembers is her uncle’s claws around her gut. There’s a bit more after that, she knows – a floating sensation, time passing, foggy elegies swilling about in her brain, but nothing concrete and certainly no memories. When the couple pull away from each other, she takes the opportunity to ask, “You mentioned earlier that I was like another style – and something about a slider? What do you mean?”

Boyd nods at here. “Something like that. The Slider is a man who says he travelled to our world through a magical portal. Such travel is unlikely but not impossible. He bore a physical and metaphysical similarity to Stiles, not style, although if you did not recognise the name, then perhaps you are not from the same world or time as he was. Stiles is a boy in our pack – a powerful spark, and Derek’s mate.” The more Boyd speaks, the more Caribbean his voice sounds, like the young man is channelling a Haitian priest from another life. “This man, The Slider, he is a parallel universe’s version of our Stiles, the same way you are a parallel universe’s version of our Laura, except he knew who we were, he knew Derek and Cora, and to a degree he even knew you. You on the other hand, do not know Stiles.”

Laura absorbs the revelation, connecting the dots in her mind.

“Wow.” Erica whistles in approval. “I love it when you talk all voodoo like that,” she runs her finger up the dark skin of the man’s arm. “Is he just the dreamiest.”

Boyd smiles slightly. “I’m sorry. My grandmother taught me everything I know about magic. I sound a bit like her sometimes,” he says abashedly.

“Especially when he does his emissary thing. And in bed,” Erica says sultrily. “especially when he loses it and tells me to _pran his kòk_.”

Boyd covers his face, blushing colouring even his dark skin.

“Derek mate is a boy?” Laura asks, oblivious to Erica’s lewd oversharing.

“Oh man…” Erica sighs. “Fine, I’ll tell you all bout it on the way back. Baby, please be careful. We’re already missing three people and with Alpha Hale in her condition, we just don’t know what’s out there. Promise me you’ll come back.”

Boyd nods. “I promise.”

“If you do, I’ll let you _pran_ me any way you like.” Erica smiles sweetly, and this gets Boyd blushing again. Satisfied, she turns her attention to Laura. “C’mon then. We’ll go see what Lydia has to say about all this.”

“Who’s the alpha and what’s wrong with her?” Laura asks as she runs after Erica.

After Laura and Erica leave, Boyd strolls a few hundred yards until he feels a ley line. Once he steps on the telluric node, he focuses his mind on the power at the centre of the preserve. _I know I’m not your favourite, but please, I need to know what’s happening. We have misplaced three, including Stiles. Surely you will help us find him at least._ Magic pulses through the ley line and Boyd slips under as the nemeton takes him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, the Laura in this chapter is the main Laura from the series who was killed by Peter, and then raised from the dead (again by Peter) in the last chapter. Somehow she was raised, and ended up in the other universe while Miles/Miguel/Laura are sucked into the main universe.
> 
> Weird shit is going down and we'll get back to it next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken this long, but I threw out a bunch of writing (well okay, not threw out but kept for maybe a different fic) because I thought it was getting away from the lighthearted, sorta wishful, nature of this universe.
> 
> So yeah... I'm halfway through rewriting all the remaining chapters (which I'm holding back because my speed writing circle hasn't been able to meet as of late) and I thought I'd just put out the fluffy short one first while the rest continue baking.

Stiles wakes up alone surrounded by bright light, without Derek sleeping next to him. On further inspection, it’s not even his bedroom… Dammit.

“Ah yes. This again… well, what is it now? Is it time for a snack already? I just fed you, like, yesterday dude. Can’t you just photosynthesise or something?” This is what his life has come to – bickering with a goddamn plant. 

_No, I did not wake you to request sustenance – although, rerouting a telluric line to run below the mansion required considerable energy, so I would not turn down another blood meal should you offer it._

“Blood meal— Jeez, don’t make it sound so… eeyuckk!” Stiles shudders at the turn of phrase before sighing again. It’s just like the Nemeton to completely ignore his jaunty wit (see: sarcasm) and just respond plainly – which is not quite half as fun for Stiles, and he suspects his stumpy friend knows it too. “So… did you interrupt my beauty rest for a reason? I don’t mean to be cranky but these visions of yours usually don’t leave me very refreshed afterwards and I can’t afford to miss any more classes. Okay, well I can because my professors love me… but I probably shouldn’t miss too many since I’m, well Peter… someone is paying for my expensive education and I might as well go for at least, like, 50% of my classes.” He chastises himself for completely screwing up his rant, not that the nemeton seems to mind.

_I apologise. Someone is knocking on the door and I expected you would want to answer it. I will be keeping the connection open while you talk._

“Knocking on the door? What d—“ Stiles starts saying before he is suddenly crashing into a pile of leaves. “Fuck, a little warning might be nice,” he groans groggily before a deep familiar voice snaps him to attention.

“Slider?”

He turns towards the sound and is faced with someone he never thought he’d see again. Not in the land of the living anyway.

“Boyd?”

The bigger man nods. “It is nice to see you again, although I must admit this is a weird place to find you.” The man helps him up and grabs him in a tight hug, confirming a corporealness Stiles didn’t even know he wanted to test. It takes him a beat, but he returns the embrace, hugging his long lost, alternately dead buddy. Of course he knows this is a Boyd from a different world, but in the moment, logic makes way for emotions.

“How is this happening?” Stiles asks when they break the touch.

“The nemeton connects many worlds. It would seem that both of ours are linked somehow.”

Stiles blinks and shakes his head. “It’s more than that. Don’t, like, freak out or anything, but I may have set a teensy-tiny apocalypse in motion with all my… um… sliding.”

“Fuck.”

Stiles can only agree.

“Does that have anything to do with why we just… received… a very disoriented Laura in my world?”

Wait what? But… “Huh? The Laura in my world is dead - remember I told you. And by the way, _your_ Laura is here, and mini-me and your Derek too.”

Boyd’s eyebrow goes up in surprise. “Oh? So that’s where they are. And no, I think something sent your Laura to us, very much alive. This… I’m not entirely sure what’s going on? You mentioned an apocalypse?”

Stiles sighs. “I probably should probably explain…”

 

\--

 

“Looking good as always old man,” Miles snaps a finger and points at the Sheriff as he throws himself on the couch.

John winces at the comment from his parallel son. “Tell that to my other son. He still doesn’t let me eat what I want,” he complains over the sound of the game commentary on TV.

Miles tips his head back slightly and lets out a laugh which is immediately too familiar. “Yeah, and aren’t you glad you’re alive long enough to see us screw up the joint? Believe me when I say, even with everything I can dish out, mom’s nagging is much _much_ worse. And what with the werewolf hearing – she’s relentless,” he adds, cavalier towards the Sheriff’s slight pang at the mention of his wife. “I swear the only reason Derek managed to win you over was bribing you with snacks, until mom figured that out too and man oh man, you know how he’s like a sailor sometimes and—“

The Sheriff sighs. Miles isn’t used to tiptoeing around it the way John and Stiles have practically made an art form of avoidance, so the older man brushes it off as he lets Miles ramble. He will never be used to hearing his late wife referred to in the present tense but it’s been such a long time that in some ways and the wounds have mostly scarred over. So while it might be a bit strange, he is still happy to hear about the life Miles has, the life he and Stiles missed out on with Claudia. Never mind how heartbreaking it is to know that by mere fractions of fate, his son had not met Derek earlier in life, discovered they were mates therefore introducing them to the Hale secret, and leaving the door open for his wife to take the healing bite. He’s just happy that somewhere out there, she survived, so as he listens to his surrogate son ramble on about overprotective parenting, he can’t help but smile slightly.

 

\--

 

Laura walks into the living room to see Derek and Miguel in a silent stare match. “Wow. All that staring… it’s like you guys are frozen in a glare-loop,” Laura remarks as she grabs starts putting groceries away. “You’re not gonna make out with each other are you, because I gotta say, it would be weird, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

That snaps the men out of their bubble.

“What the fuck Laur,” Miguel exclaims, staring at her with a disgusted look.

“Oh, good, you guys are alive. Phew! Such a relief. And don’t front... I’ve seen you primp in front of the mirror like you totes wanna kiss yourself,” Laura says, unaffected by the intense glares directed at her from both her brothers.

“It’s… Is she always like this?” Derek groans to Miguel. Somehow he remembers Laura being more serious and less like… well… Stiles. Guess losing their family in a fire really took toll on her personality.

“No,” Miguel shakes his head. “She’s usually much worse.”

“I only speak the truth,” Laura counters in a merry tune as she puts something in the microwave.

“I don’t want to make out with myself, Laura,” Miguel counters, but Derek hears a faint hitch in his doppelganger’s heartbeat. Not an outright lie, but certainly not the entire truth. By the way the room goes quiet, he guesses that he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Umm… I mean…”

Silence.

“Well,” Laura hums as she presses the timer on the microwave, “that’s awkward.”

“I mean…” Miguel stammers, “I don’t _desire_ myself in that way, but… you know… alright, so I’m a little curious about what it’s like for Stiles when he’s kissing me. Nothing wrong with that right, just curious in a totally academic way?”

There’s another hitch in his heartbeat. Derek just gapes and chokes, trying but failing to formulate a response. When his eyes catches his twin’s, he quickly looks down and away, not really knowing what to say or where to rest his gaze. Miguel doesn’t seem to know much better.

“Oh god.” Laura winces. “It’s like the both of you wrote the book on being squawkward. ‘How to be cripplingly embarrassing at dinner parties, by The Dereks Hale’.” When all she gets are both men staring at her, then back at each other, then looking away into the distance, Laura’s decides right there to abandon her hot pocket. “Yyyyiiikes… Oh can you hear that? I think Jordan needs… calling me… I mean… he might… I’m just gonna go outside… away… from here,” she attempts to say as she backs away. When the microwave starts beeping to let her know the food is done, she’s already long gone.

A moment passes, the hum of the microwave plate rotating, before Derek shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t think she really gets to talk about us being awkward after last night,” he tells Miguel, referring to the incredibly sickening pillowtalk Laura and Jordan put their sensitive werewolf ears through.

Miguel nods vigorously, eager to move the focus away from whether he may or may not be thinking about getting to first-base with his parallel self, purely for research of course. “Right? Why didn’t they just go to his house anyway… And I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that they’re having sex, or all that sappy shit Laura keeps whispering to him under the sheets.”

It’s the worst.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come...
> 
> Check out the timestamps as they'll occasionally get updated before this.


End file.
